Chapter 14 #2
My pulse gives an embarrassing little stumble because some foolish part of me expected him to be waiting.
Not with flowers or apologies or some grand confession.
That would be insane. This is Witt. I would've settled for him standing at the island, looking anywhere but my eyes, saying something like, The kiss requires discussion.
Instead, there's a closed door and maybe that is the discussion.
I stand in the middle of the penthouse in the most beautiful dress I've ever worn and feel like an intruder all over again.
He regrets it.
The thought arrives quietly, but once it's there, it spreads.
He regrets kissing me.
He regrets bringing me here.
He regrets letting Dara offer me this place.
Maybe he regrets hiring me.
No. That one isn't fair. I earned the job. I know I did.
But the rest?
The rest feels possible.
The penthouse is his space. His quiet. His controlled, perfectly ordered world. And I have spent the last two weeks filling it with decorative mugs, packing boxes, wine glasses, laughter, Noelle, Chase's phone calls, and feelings neither of us has any business having.
Careful not to make too much noise, I tip toe away, occasionally looking back.The light under his office door stays steady, but there’s no movement, or sound.
By the time I reach my room, my chest aches in a way I refuse to name.
I close the door softly behind me, lean back against it, and finally let myself breathe. Then I look toward the nightstand and the drawer.
Toward the letter I brought with me because apparently some endings can't be left behind just because you change cities.
My fingers move before I fully decide to follow them.
The drawer slides open.
The stationery waits inside.
Dear Glitch.
I sit on the edge of the bed in my emerald gown, hair still pinned, lipstick still on, heart still a mess from one man who walked away and another who exists only in letters.
For the first time in months, I pick up the pen and don't stop at two words.
I smooth the cream-colored stationery across my lap and stare at the blank page for several long moments. My fingers tighten around the pen before loosening again.
For months, every letter has ended the same way.
With nothing.
A few words, a crumpled page and ending up in the trash can.
Tonight, the words come.
Not easily, but honestly.
Dear Glitch,
I don't know if you'll ever read this. I don't even know if you're still checking the post office box or if you've decided that disappearing was easier than saying goodbye like I thought.
Part of me hopes you're happy. The other part is still selfish enough to hope you think about me sometimes.
I think about you more than I probably should.
I wonder if you're still gaming until two in the morning.
If you're still forgetting to eat when you're working on something you love.
If you finally bought a decent headset instead of insisting the broken one still worked because you "understood its flaws."
Some people collect souvenirs. Me? I collect memories of conversations.
You once told me every system eventually reveals what it's designed to protect.
I've thought about that a lot lately. Because I think my heart did the same thing. I built walls around it after you.
Not because I stopped caring, but because caring hurt too much.
For a while, I convinced myself that we waited long enough, that we’d come back online one day and say there had been some ridiculous explanation.
That my computer died.
That you moved and forgot to change the last forwarding address.
That life simply got in the way.
Maybe it did. Or didn’t. I don’t know anymore.
What I do know is...something changed tonight.
Not all at once.
Maybe it started weeks ago.
Maybe it started the first day I walked into my new job.
Maybe it started the first time someone looked at me and saw more than a resume.
I wish I could tell you every detail.
I wish I could tell you why my chest feels so heavy writing this. But somehow putting another person's story into our letters feels wrong.
You were my safe place for ten years.
You deserve better than becoming a comparison.
So instead, I'll tell you this.
For the first time, since reading your last letter, someone made me wonder if my heart still remembered how to choose.
That realization fills me with equal parts hope and guilt.
Hope because I honestly believed that part of me had gone quiet forever.
Guilt because it feels like moving forward means leaving you behind.
And I don't know how to do that.
You mattered too much.
You still do.
Maybe that's the hardest part.
Loving what we had doesn't stop life from continuing.
It doesn't stop new people from walking into it.
It doesn't stop my heart from surprising me when I least expect it.
I don't know where this new path leads.
Truthfully, I don't even know if it leads anywhere at all.
Maybe I'm reading too much into a few moments.
Maybe I'm making the mistake of confusing gratitude with something deeper.
Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up and realize I'm being ridiculous.
I almost hope that's true.
Because if it isn't...
Then I'll have to admit that the girl who spent ten years waiting for you is finally taking one hesitant step forward.
If that sounds like goodbye...
I don't think it is.
Not really.
Goodbye means forgetting.
And I'll never forget you.
You helped build the person I became.
No matter what happens next...
Thank you for finding me all those years ago.
For listening when no one else understood.
For reminding me that different was never the same thing as broken.
For every laugh.
Every game.
Every letter.
Every version of me you quietly accepted.
I'll always be grateful for that.
Always.
—Rune
I stare at the signature until the ink dries.
My vision blurs.
One tear lands near the bottom of the page, smearing the tail of the final word.
I don't wipe it away.
Instead, I fold the letter carefully, slide it into an envelope, and write the familiar address I've memorized over the last decade.
Then I set the envelope on my nightstand.
Ready to mail.
I lie down without changing out of my dress.
The envelope sits within reach, illuminated by the soft bedside lamp.
All I have to do tomorrow is drop it in the mailbox.
I close my eyes.
For the first time in ten years...
I don't know which man I'm dreaming about.